


How a Lark Sings

by JennaMoon



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Come Eating, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Everything is consenual, Face-Fucking, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Ribbons, Safe Sane and Consensual, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Spanking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22621597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaMoon/pseuds/JennaMoon
Summary: 'When Jaskier moans, its melodic.'How Geralt makes his Lark sing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 405





	How a Lark Sings

When Jaskier moans, its melodic. A sweeping choral chime that Geralt always craves more of; he praises his bard so, grunting for more. Despite his sweet ballads and soulful harmonies, it is Jaskier’s moans that produce the most angelic of sounds. They float in the air, sustained so beautifully. Geralt shudders at the kisses to his ear, how they caress the shell and mould to his cheek.

He’s almost ashamed of how he speeds to his release when that pretty mouth is filled with his cock, trilling and whining instead of sucking. Those vibrations drive Geralt wild, and he can’t help but thrust into that warm, singing cavern and deposit his seed down that tightening throat.

Luckily, it doesn’t take him long to be rock hard again, rising in front of his spluttering lark.

But Jaskier waits patiently, kneeling so prettily. Geralt can’t help but tussle those brown locks, feeling the soft hair between his fingers. And Jaskier takes his half-hard cock in his mouth and suckles, so well-taught. Geralt would be more kind, the second time. He needs his bird to sing for him after-all; a throat fucked raw would ruin that magical gift.

So he’s gentle, letting Jaskier do the work, set the pace.

“Good boy,” he breathes as Jaskier takes in more of his dick, accommodating so much of his shaft in his humming, pulsing throat. The bard is encouraged by the praise; he sucks much more eagerly.

If the bard’s hands are free, they’d be at Geralt’s hips, pulling himself closer. Usually, though, they’d be tied behind his back, with soft ribbon. They would sometimes use rope, when Jaskier asked for it. But the blood and friction burns, purple and blue and red, sent something deep within Geralt’s chest rattling.

So, ribbon it was, tied in a delicate bow.

Jaskier would have to rock his whole body to take the cock in his mouth, rocking back and forth obscenely, knees contracting and loosening with every suck and breath. Geralt would be there, though, waiting for Jaskier to inevitably go too far; a hand to steady him.

Geralt may shove Jaskier’s head away on the second release, spurting across his bard’s face and hair and lips. In the morning, Jaskier would complain about the stickiness but, in the evening… when Jaskier was docile and pliant and behaving so well for Geralt… he’d say nothing besides ‘thank you’.

“Hmm.”

And Geralt would be ready to go again after a quick sip of room temperature wine.

He’d push Jaskier down, at times, leave the bard’s head against the cool tile of the floor or damp grass of the field. And it would be so easy to grasp his bard by the neck and hold him down whilst thrusting straight into that begging hole. And Jaskier would sing his praises, a high warble of moans and pleas to ‘hit there!’, or ‘Gods, don’t stop!’. Geralt would oblige, if he’s feeling kind, and continue his raging back and forth.

Jaskier would be leaking unceremoniously. If his lark had met his release before the penetration, then it was down to Geralt being a caring lover, a kind lover… but it was just as plausible for Jaskier’s moment to release to have been stunted, again and again, his soft cries becoming sobs of want.

“Only on my cock.”

And Jaskier would nod his pretty head and agree, that what he needed was the feeling of a thick dick inside him, ruining him for anyone except his Witcher. All Jaskier would need was his Witcher, there was nobody who could fill him up as good, make him feel as good, abuse his poor prostate so well, with such accuracy and precision.

Geralt would tell him as much as he carries the actions through, voice rough on the poor bard’s ear, as his neck is bitten and he’s manhandled to be sat on his dick now, riding Geralt. And Jaskier would let out a miserable sob; he was going to have to earn his release by bringing them both there.

Geralt may try to restrain himself; keep those hands on Jaskier’s hips only…. Though that was difficult and didn’t always work out. The Witcher may take a hand to his bard’s nipple, give them a rub and pinch and tweak. They’d redden and grow with interest, the bard’s singing becoming far more operatic than just merely… melodic.

And Jaskier would bounce, over and over, grounding his cheeks against Geralt’s groin. He’d feel so much in him, so much cock inside, wearing him like a sock for warmth. And it would all be too much.

If Jaskier managed to squeeze down hard enough, plea for permission to let out his spend, then Geralt would allow it. Jaskier is always so beautiful when he hits that final note, the vibrato skidding through him, into a joyous scream as Geralt lazily fucks him through his spasms, before finally, conclusively, filling his bard with his own release, biting down hard on the already bruised flesh.

Of course, his struggling lark would still be beautiful if he let go of his pending climax prematurely, singing away. But they both knew, the moment Jaskier’s head came back to clarity, that it wasn’t good enough.

Geralt would give a couple hard thrusts before pinning the human to the bed, both wrists between his thumb and pointer finger. His other hand would collect the early spend, from his stomach, chest, thighs, ground. Then, Geralt would wipe his soiled palm over Jaskier’s open mouth, resting it there for him to lap it up. Once Geralt deemed his hand clean enough, he would raise it, and bring it down firmly, quickly, to the bard’s thigh. The sound slap would resonate through the air, joining Jaskier’s screech in harmony. 

Geralt would deliver more, until his bard’s sobbing grew too fierce or he uttered stop. “Alright?” He’d ask, voice still deep and rough. It would be his eyes, softened edges with concern, that would be the assurance.

Jaskier would always nod, or smile crookedly, eyes scrunched up.

Geralt would have remained inside his bard this whole time, still hard and thick and waiting to release. He’d ease it out at that point, and take himself into his hand, the one use to spank his dear lark. And he’d pump, backing away, until his shot was aimed at Jaskier’s groin and gaping hole.

It would take long. A rugged groan and then, there, hot and powerful, Geralt would spend over his bard’s hole and flaccid, mostly, cock. Jaskier would whimper, eyes still wet. He yearned for his loss, feeling the warm spunk drip down the entrance to his fluttering hole, so desperate to take it all in.

After a few seconds a cloth, wet and warm if possible, would be delicately wiped across the red, puckered ring, collecting the strains of sperm across his privates. Geralt would whisper the softest of sounds, words that sound like ‘love’ and ‘proud’ but… they’re too round, too far away.

He’d be as clean as Geralt could make him, given their provisions. But he’d be taken into warmth regardless, furs about his lap and his head resting on a steady, strong chest.

“You there?” Geralt would ask, his hand running through Jaskier’s hair.

“Here,” the bard’ll reply, nuzzling into the warmth “only place I want to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Why are these two the ones I end up writing porn for?


End file.
